I was typing on a split screen on my Mac, with two windows open. On one, I was frantically typing to my boss on Hipchat. The other was a blank WordPress page for the About section of the very site you’re staring at.

On a daily basis, I write a lot. I mean, a lot a lot. I write copy for e-mail campaigns, blog posts, and social from 9-5, plus I do a weekly column for my previous job.

But here’s the thing—it’s easy to write something when it’s not about you. I can roll out snappy copy with pizzaz like *whoa* for my job. I was a no-name author behind a computer screen and I did not give a poo what the reactions were.

Ok, that’s a total lie. I care a little bit—I got quotas to meet ‘yo.

Writing is a lot like talking to a stranger in a bar—the less you care, the better you’ll perform. When I’m speaking to a guy who is, shall we say, less than desirable; I’m charming, witty, and I can actually control my resting bitch face. If, on the other hand, the guy is a hottie-with-a-body, I am the most awkward human being that has walked the face of the Earth. I actually stutter my words. Really. I actually stutter. I don’t think I stuttered in high school. 

So there lies the issue with writing about yourself: you actually care. This is about you, and how you appear and convey yourself to other people. This is also why people filter themselves online.

When the idea started for my blog, I had absolutely zero idea what I wanted to write about. Well, sort of. I wanted to write about how I find time for the gym, because all my friends asked me to send them workouts. I wanted to write down my real food recipes because my coworkers were mesmerized by what I brought for lunch each day. And maybe once in awhile, I’d share a few of my sneaky marketing tricks.

I just didn’t realize how much writing about myself would make.my.stomach.turn.

Because for as impressive as my lunches may seem, my kitchen fail rate is a tad on the extreme side. Case in point, I tried making pumpkin caramel corn tonight.  I know, it sounds freaking delicious, right? Wrong. It turned into a bag of disgusting mush (ask my roommate). And you know what? We ate that disgusting mush, then proceeded to ask each other, “Why did we just eat that?” for the next two hours. Then I Googled, “What makes caramel corn soggy?” [Which, by the way, no one has properly addressed.]

^^^This is what my life is like. I will demolish a pint of ice cream if you put it in front of me. Or trail mix—honestly who has the self control to buy a bag of trailmix?? I ran one mile today for my workout, and the only reason I did that was because I was late to an appointment and running was faster than the metro. I didn’t even do abs.

I’ve texted quite a few people while writing my About section. I have my own personal cheering section of close and friends reminding me (in the nicest way possible) to just write the damn thing. They’ve offered their thoughts and proofreading skills. Finally, a friend sent me this:

So I started writing.  I didn’t hit the delete button. I hit publish on my About section. I wrote my first post. I still cannot describe how gross that popcorn was or explain why I finished it anyway. I tried so hard not to filter myself, because that was what I set out to do.

Welcome to For All the F Words. I’ve waited so long to publish this.

Now, if only I could teach myself to speak to that hot guy at the bar.

xo Kara